


Dog Daze A-Sumner on Gotō Island

by tiniestdormouse



Category: Pandora Hearts, ばらかもん | Barakamon
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barakamon - Freeform, Crossover, Gen, little bit of Ozbert, lots of awkward pretentious artist!Gilbert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 06:31:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5616994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniestdormouse/pseuds/tiniestdormouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilbert tries to focus on his craft, fails, and then somewhat succeeds. A mash-up crossover with Barakamon. Handa is PretentiousArtist!Gilbert. This is truth.  </p><p>Originally written for the PH Fanfest.</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	Dog Daze A-Sumner on Gotō Island

 

Focus.

Gilbert dipped the _fude_ brush into the ink and waited precisely five seconds as the right amount of dark liquid absorbed in the fine brushes.

Concentrate.

A deep breath – diaphragm in, diaphragm out – to still that buzzing of electric motion through his limbs. Not electricity, not really, but it was the only way he could describe the energetic flow of inspiration. Creativity moved not like lightening (he hated clichés) but in an invisible circuit inside the body, a current constantly flowing through himself, waiting to be tapped.

Flow.

That was the hardest part, actually, connecting that incessant energy and channeling it properly. The _fude_ brush lifted. A droplet of midnight slowly gathered at the apex of the bristles. His hand – steady, sure – descended. Underneath, the sheet of _hanshi_ lay open and wide with possibilities. Reaching for that word, the perfect set of lines and movement. 

In the back of his mind, old man Barma – damn him! – echoed in his ears: “How uninspired.” His grip tightened on the wooden handle as his teeth gritted. No! He couldn’t let that idiot curator distract him. Three weeks on this remote island, sending most every day perfecting his work should have driven the geezer away. But the deadline for the next showcase was only a month away and fear, sliding underneath his fingertips like an insidious parasite, made them start to tremble.

Steady, Gilbert, he told himself, taking another calming breath. He was a fount of creative inspiration. He was a vessel for the higher God of Calligraphy, a mere instrument.  Like the Shinto priests who read futures inside flames and the migratory patterns of birds, he could only surmise a higher truth and hone his body into the tool for the sake of Beauty. He unleashed the electrical charge of the One True Art. He was a Calligrapher.

Gilbert lowered his hand toward the paper. The droplet quivered. This was his calling; the _hanshi_ waited for the message; the God beckoned.  The first word formulated out of the muck of his moral understanding, rising as a lotus would and blossoming into divine recognition.  He had to Focus, Concentrate, and then Flow-

“Gilbert-sensei!”

The brush splattered against the paper. The divine spark vanished, stymied.

“Gilbert-sensei-!” Something small, loud, and girl-shaped sprang up the front landing and into the living room, rolling immediately into a ball and tumbling to a stop beneath the low table. A head of orange hair popped up from between the furniture legs, and the young child beamed up at him.

He thumped the brush against the _suzuri_ and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“What do you want, Lily?” he asked, trying to keep his inner calm.   
  
“Guess what today is?”

Gilbert paused—he tended to lose track of the dates in the midst of his work. “Um, Sunday?”

“It’s the ‘DOG DAZE A-SUMNER!’” The foreign words sounded disjointed in her mouth. “That’s an English expression. Lottie-sama told me.”

“What does that mean?” He started to put away his tools. No sense in starting work now—this he learned from previous experience. Lily Baskerville, the village scamp, was very much like a typhoon contained into the body of a 7-year old girl: the best way to handle her was to lock everything down before it gets damaged and wait it out.   

“I dunno. It has to do with a dog. Because it’s so hot. Phhhe-whew!” Lily crawled from beneath the table and collapsed onto the _tatami_ mats. “I wanted to go to the beach, but Fang-sama said that he had to help Doug-sama clean out the fishing boat and Lottie-sama said she had to work at the store and Echo didn’t want to go at aaaall-”

“Hello, Sensei,” Echo peeked her head around the corner and pushed up her glasses. “Sorry Lily got here before us.” Her friend Ada poked her head from behind her. The girls were schoolmates and some of the new friends he had made while on the island.

“So, no beach today?” Gilbert asked with a look that begged, _Please say otherwise_.

“Well, the break is almost over, so we needed to catch up on our summer assignments.” Ada sighed.

“At least one of us does,” replied Echo. She carried a folder of papers and a small bag. “I-I was hoping that you could give me some advice on a new manga I’m working on.”

“Oh… certainly.” The last horror one Gilbert politely described as “innovative use of intestines” and he didn’t know what to make of the relationship between the two protagonist brothers (it reminded him awkwardly of himself and Vincent…).  But perhaps if the two older girls only needed to do quiet work, he could continue his artistic communion with the One True Art. As for Lily—

He looked about. “Hey, where’s Lily?”

“It’s not working!” came the wail outside. Gilbert stepped onto the landing to see Lily squatting on the concrete drive, poking at the yellow mound of raw egg. A carton – his carton from the icebox, it appeared – lay open next to her, and the remains of its last three comrades lay in a shell-and-scramble mess.

“What are you-?” Gilbert grabbed the now empty carton. He really didn’t have to cook for himself at all – the Vessalius family graciously provided his food as well as letting him rent out this cottage — but it also didn’t help that the few groceries he did keep for off-hand meals had been ransacked.

“Lottie-sama said that they’d fry.” Lily said and plopped, cross-legged, on the ground, tossing her stick away. “Because it’s the ‘dog daze a-sunmer.’” She sighed. “Must not be dog enough.”

“At least try not to make a mess trying to prove an weird idiom.” Gilbert un-spooled the garden hose. He turned the nozzle and a sudden mischievous thought crossed his mind.

An arc of water splashed at Lily’s heels. “Eeeee,” she screamed, leaping to her feet.

“It’s dog enough now for you to cool off.”

“Ha!” Lily scrambled around the corner and Gilbert followed with the hose. “That’s what you get for wasting eggs, young lady!” he said, turning a sharp left and—

“Oof!”

He and Oz slammed head-on into each other; the tray balancing bowls of plastic-wrapped _hiyashi chuka_ tumbled from the blond’s grip as Gilbert fell on top of him.

“Gah! Cold, cold!” Oz exclaimed as the nozzle fell between them, instantly drenching their shirts. “What’s with the hose?”

Gilbert flushed red.  “Sorry, sorry!” he tried to scramble onto his feet, but the rubber nose tangled between their legs. He grappled for the now-slippery nozzle-head and tried to free their limbs, spraying water all over his _jinbei_.

“Oh, big brother, it’s lunchtime already?” Ada appeared. The water pressure soon ceased but it didn’t prevent Gilbert and Oz from becoming drenched.

“Thanks for turning off the spray, Ada,” Oz said, still sprawled beneath Gilbert, who was trying uselessly to free them both.

“Oh, Echo took care of that,” Ada replied and Gilbert glanced up to see Echo, beet-red next to her, both hands covering her mouth. A small smile crossed his face—he recalled last time on the beach, when Echo had asked him what he thought about Oz. Gilbert suspected the girl had a crush on Oz, and being the supportive mentor-type, praised the young man to the high heavens. Now would be the perfect opportunity for them to interact!

He propped one elbow on the grass and cradled his chin with his palm. “Can you help us with this garden hose, Echo?”

“N-n-no thanksbyeIgottago!”  she squealed. As she departed, Gilbert heard her mutter something about not being a _fujoshi_ and raised both eyebrows. He exchanged expressions with Oz, who managed to liberate himself from underneath him and picked up the tray and the containers of cold noodles. “You’re lucky Uncle Oscar wrapped these up.”

Lunch passed uneventfully between the three of them. Though truth be told, Oz had removed his shirt in order for it to dry properly out in the sun, and Gilbert couldn’t help but be a bit distracted – yet there shouldn’t be any real reason why, since he’d seen Oz shirtless before on the beach. Echo’s departing outcry must be triggering unnecessary associations, Gil decided, stuffing a mouthful of noodles into his mouth.  

He thanked the two siblings for the meal and the company and settled into his work once again. Just as he had placed the metal _bunchin_ across the top sheet to weigh it down, a commotion came from the next room, where he kept his creative archives.

He slid open the door to see Lily among his papers. An admonishment was about to escape his lips when she flourished a couple of tossed-away freelancing pieces that he had scrapped weeks ago. “Here we go! Dog days of summer!”

Sure enough, she uncrumpled the sheets of paper to reveal the half-finished signs that he had worked on for a pet-walking service and a seasonal daycare center. The kanji for “dog”, “day”, and “summer” were spread out side-by-side.

“Hmmm.” The current sent a jolt along his spine. He touched a finger to his chin and tilted his head. The flow of these letters in such a random positioning created some sort of harmonic movement between each individual stroke. That downward curve, the arching slide, that speckled dash at the end. It was far from perfect, yet something sizzled about that phrase. Gilbert’s fingers twitched and he accepted the pages from Lily’s hands.

“Dog days of summer, huh?” he mused. “It’s a start.”


End file.
